


Birds of Prey

by Pfefferminze



Series: Memoirs from the Downfall Verse [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Chantry Issues, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 17:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20709518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pfefferminze/pseuds/Pfefferminze
Summary: It was a dark and stormy night, as they always are. A snapshot in the life of Leandra Hawke.





	Birds of Prey

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of my Memoirs from the Downfall verse, even though it's set way further down the line from what I've written so far. In any case, it can be read as a standalone and does not spoil anything from the series except from what we already know about Malcolm and Leandra from DAII. 
> 
> Dedicated to Hellenys cause she is my one and only fan.

Leandra stares through the hazy window. At what, she doesn’t know herself, as her eyes struggle to see through the large teardrops racing each other on the dirty glass. The familiar tall man she seeks is nowhere to be found. The fog outside sometimes darkens, mixed with the smoke from the other huts in the village, forming deceiving patterns. Her heart quickens every time something appears to be walking and it calms down with the sigh that escapes her lips when the figures dissolve. Despite the futility of her eye straining exercise, she prefers it to the sight of the room she is in. That, she can’t bear anymore. The marks on the wood above are also carved in her eyelids, and if she ignores it, maybe the wind will stop seeping in from the hole in the left corner. An ancient and peeling portrait of Andraste aids her, looking down on little Fallon, who is sleeping on a mound of ragged blankets that came with the house. 

House.

How can it be called a house? It has a roof and four walls, barely enough room for Malcolm to lie down without his legs cramping. It’s a perfectly good excuse to hold them closer, he says. She accepts his grip when they pretend to sleep, knowing it is the only way to know what’s real. The nights are long in the merciless Fereldan winter and they only get longer whenever the wall she leans on is made of wood instead of muscles. The rhythm of the old oak branches hitting the roof when the wind from the Waking Sea makes its way so far into the outback can only mimic a heartbeat in the deepest dreams that struggle so much to arrive. 

“Mama” 

The toddler calls her softly, already accustomed to games of silence and whispers. She sits up, with her thick hair sticks in all directions, the red undertones highlighted by the reflection of the fire reminding her mother so much of home. 

“Dada?” 

The tone of the question is so unsure that Leandra decides to abandon her outpost to join her daughter on the floor. The girl jumps on her lap, tiny fingers wet from spending too much time in her mouth grab the flaps of cloth barely covering her mother’s breasts. What would Bethann say of her indecent ways, showing so much cleavage and not tying her corset properly. What a thought. There is no one but Andraste to judge her now. Besides, nothing fits anymore. She is much larger than with Fallon. It looks as though her body has made itself ready to care for two children rather than one, which is a thought she cannot contemplate. None of her lady’s lessons have prepared her to feed three children while constantly running from the world. They’ll have to do, and they will figure it out. For now, it’s only her and the beautiful girl in her arms, struggling to resist to slumber. 

She is observing her perfect lineaments, when Fallon’s eyes blink wide open at the three knocks on the door. As fast as her current size allows her, Leandra runs to the entrance and responds with two knocks. A final hit confirms the identity of the person outside. The ritual allows them to believe they are prepared to defend themselves. As if the latch she is unlocking could keep the Templars away if the wanted to enter. Nevertheless, it builds anticipation without fear, as indeed, it is Malcolm standing outside, with his curls made darker from the rain peeking out of his hood. His face is tighter and his figure leaner, but his eyes are warm and his arms wide, making space for a squirming Fallon to jump in. 

“Hello Chickie! Keeping Mama awake in the middle of the night, are you?” He caresses his wife’s stomach reverently. “Or is it one of the two rascals in here? Have they been behaving, eh Chickie?”

While Fallon nods solemnly, unsure of what to respond but willing to humour her father, Leandra finds that perfect space, with her cheek leaning on his chest and his left arm surrounding her. She doesn’t mind the wetness and the cold, for she can feel the furnace of his heart beat under his clothes, sending tendrils of heat running through her body, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. 

“I don’t want to give you the impression that I don’t appreciate holding my girls, but we should step inside.” 

He giggles while kicking the door shut. Father and daughter sit on the makeshift bed, some hay and blankets really, while Leandra makes sure to fasten the latch again. Everything is in this room now, that door truly needs to hold. When she turns, Malcolm has already cast a spell to dry himself and one to liven up the fire. He produces a wooden toy from one of his pockets, which Fallon grabs from his hands before he can even offer it to her. It’s an animal, perhaps a bear, and its arms and legs move. This fascinates the toddler spectacularly, enough to move her attention away from her father. 

Where have you been? What have you done? Why did it take you so long to come back? Hundreds of questions fly through her mind while she studies him. He has truly lost too much weight, Maker only knows where he’s been hiding. She must have said that out loud, for he replies: 

“Well, the same cannot be said about you, my sunflower. You look like those babies are ready to burst out at any moment. Your cleavage is even more spectacular than when I left and it is very thoughtful of you as a wife to welcome your husband back with so much of it in sight.”

Her hands find their position on her hips and she is ready to chastise his comment, but the movement makes her corset slip even lower. She can’t contain her laughter at his wolf whistling accompanied by a comical wiggling of eyebrows. There are better ways to let the tight coil of emotions in her heart come out; that’s what he’s taught her and what he keeps reminding her. She sits down, ready to gently question him. He’s dropped his act too. She is overwhelmed by the hunger in his eyes when the tomfoolery leaves. For a moment she wishes they weren’t here and now and memories of different nights they shared send shivers down her spine. Well, as her nanny Adahlena would pragmatically say, all these children did not come from nowhere. They settle for holding hands, caressing the signs hardship on each other’s fingers and palms. 

“Where were you?” And where are they? She dares not say it out loud, fearing it would materialise them in the room. 

“A bit here, there and everywhere. At first I led them towards Highever. Then, just to be sure I tooka short a detour around Amaranthine. There is an old friend of mine who lives there. Yes, before you say anything, I know hiding with other apostates makes you nervous, but he’s been on the run for long enough to know how to do it. He lives near the docks, where he also works. He says he can find me something with loading and offloading cargo. And he’s willing to give us the two rooms on the upper floor of his house, as his usual lodgers have left. Lea, it won’t be long before the people in this village realise that I am the same reported apostate from Stepton Hill, it’s not so far. And you dying your hair just helps so much. Besides, we need more space. The twins will be born soon.” 

“Yes, I know that better than you.” The sarcastic comment escapes her lips before she can regret it. 

It’s a long journey to Highever and even longer to Amaranthine. He was gone for a month and she must now be well into her seventh month of pregnancy. If that wasn’t enough, there is one warning her mother always repeated to her: “twins are braver because they do not have to face the world alone, so they are always in a hurry to come". Still, he is right. Her black hair requires great lengths to be dyed into the auburn she chose to match Fallon’s hair. To make things worse, with the festivities approaching, people would surely travel around the region more and with them gossip. 

“I suppose being in a port city should raise fewer questions. We don’t look like the youths who left Kirkwall a few years ago anymore, if anyone is even looking for us anymore.” 

The Chantry was certainly still looking for him. They could not accept how gallantly he had ridden around, running off on Warden business without joining them, just to disappear from the city, with his phylactery and one of the most noble girls in Hightown in tow. But her? As her own father had made clear to her, Leandra Amell had died in Hightown, buried as a pretty young lady in rich clothes in the memory of all those who had known her. Silks had been exchanged for wool and hard cotton, instead of golden necklaces and earrings, she adorned herself with the silvery stretch marks on her hips and stomach from bringing that little sparkling gem of her daughter. Leandra Hawke was a mother and a wife, with her head low on her work rather than raised high in haughtiness. 

“I was also thinking that it would be easier to get a letter to your cousin or your brother from there. And to receive one back.” He says it sheepishly, not facing her. What useless pain hidden under those thick eyelashes. She made her choice and does not blame him. A few letter had been smuggled to Kirkwall, but no one had ever replied. Still, ships carry news and surely sailors would know the latest about one of the Harbour Masters and his family. Revka is still a pretty young lady in rich clothes; perhaps, after expressing their gross desires, the men might make a passing comment about how many children she has borne her illustrious husband. 

“We should leave soon. I don’t want to give birth on the road again.” 

He nods. 

“Tomorrow at first light. We don’t have much to pack.” 

She is tired at the mere thought of the journey. Or maybe she is just tired, relief finally releasing all the tension from her body and leaving her spineless, like a washed up jellyfish on the shore. She reclines next to Malcolm, seeking his heat before her eyes close completely. Fallon is still tinkering with her toy, and for a while the only noises are the clacking of wood against wood and the soft kisses that Malcolm deposits on her hair. Then, in a hushed but resolute tone, he declares: 

“We’re going on an adventure Chickie. It is going to be the grandest of times. The bad men were looking for Dada, that’s why I was away for a while. They circled around me like birds of prey, so I had to take them far away from you, my little Chickie. But you know what? We can play that game too, cause we are Hawkes and we do not fear them. In the new city, we will fly higher and freer. They will never catch us.” 

Floating in drowsiness, she stays still. Yet, inside her head, Leandra admits to herself that she feels a lot more like mice than a bird of prey. And the sharp talons and beaks of the Templars? Oh, she fears them very much. She can feel them tear into her back whenever they are not in her sight, for one quick sweep could destroy her family at any moment. “Mice hides well among the stones of a city, though” is her last thought before she falls into darkness, hoping for a safer tomorrow. 


End file.
